


it's been fun, we were fucked up and numb

by ThatGirlTheyKnow



Series: death scenes and angsty oneshots [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Basically just a death scene, M/M, lots and lots of angst, slighty out of character maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGirlTheyKnow/pseuds/ThatGirlTheyKnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The archangel grabs his face again, and kisses him one last time. It’s passionate, it’s loving, and it’s a lie. "  Death scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's been fun, we were fucked up and numb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiftingweather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftingweather/gifts).



_Where did you go as the lights went black?_  
 _Look what’s become of me_  
 _I’ve grown to love your disappearing acts_  
 _Do one more pretty please_

|o|o|o|o|

Warm, sticky blood is falling onto his hands. He’s clutching his side desperately, trying in vain to stem the gushing flow. His head is spinning, and his heart is thumping in his ears, a roar he can’t hear over. Through the shock in his brain, a part of him is panicking. It feels distant. He wonders how long he’s been bleeding.

He lies down, though a battle is raging around him. He’s off to the side, and he doesn’t think anybody saw anything happen. He doesn’t think anybody noticed the demon shove a knife into his side and run off. He doesn’t think Dean knows he’s injured. He wants to call for him, to say his last goodbyes, but a bitter part of him thinks,  _if I die, I’ll probably just come back again._

He thinks about it for a moment, and decides through the haze that dying doesn’t sound too bad right now. There has been tiredness in his bones for years, something that sleep and rest couldn’t shake. It would be so easy to lie down here, let the battle rage, let Dean win, and he can’t even find it in himself to be guilty at the thought of his brother finding his body. He will be at peace, and he knows that eventually, Dean will understand. Dean’s tired, too.

The haze is growing now, his thoughts sluggish and difficult to form. His wound hurts, but he’s growing slowly numb. He doesn’t have much time left.

A knife of clarity cuts harshly through the haze, and Sam gasps. His mouth is filled with saliva and the metallic tang of blood.

“Oh no you don’t, Sammy.”

 And Sam almost smiles. That voice. Of course he would be here, to witness Sam’s last moments. Sam’s glad his death is interesting enough to attract the attention of the archangel. God knows few other things are. Sam must have subconsciously cried out to him for help when he’d been wounded, and he must have flown here to heal him as soon as possible.

Gabriel is weak, though, and Sam is too far gone.                                  

The healing magic only numbs the pain. He’s grateful, though.

“Don’t waste your powers,” he tells his lover. Is ignored.

Well, if lover were the right word. Sam distantly recalls passionate kisses, limbs intertwined under sweat-soaked sheets, lazy kisses when they were both spent. He also recalls long conversations about Heaven, Hell, monsters and history, and small secrets about the angel’s life exposed. He remembers looking at angel and realising just how deep his feelings were for him.

He also remembers how those memories were few and far between, and how he prayed and prayed for days without a sign from Gabriel. How he allowed himself to accept the sincere-sounding apologies that were accompanied by licks and nips to his neck and chest. He thinks about how “I’ll see you soon” often meant “I’ll see you when I get around to it, it may be a month, it may be six” and how all the visits were on Gabriel’s whims, not his. Not when he had nightmares, not when he needed somebody to hold him, not when he felt broken and lost.

Sam, looking into those warm caramel eyes that swam in front of his eyes, thinks about how he hates the man he loves. And how the man he loves does not love him back. Is incapable of love.

“Do you love me?” he chokes out anyway. There’s no harm in asking.

Gabriel looks at him seriously, his mouth pursed into a thin line, half of him concentrating on healing the wound that will not heal. Now both of their hands are stained bright, gory red. Sam wishes such things weren’t such a common sight in his life.

Gabriel’s bloodied hands leave his wound and cup his face. Sam meets his eyes again and smiles faintly. Gabriel looks desperate. Gabriel doesn’t want him to die. It’s not love, no. It’s dependence, it’s affection, it’s addiction. It’s not love. Sam is a passion for Gabriel, but not in the way he wants to be.

“Yeah, Sammy, I do. I love you.” But Sam can see the lie in the archangel’s eyes. One last lie to reassure a dying man. He thinks, maybe, that in another life, Gabriel could have loved him. Another time, maybe.

However, he casts these thoughts out. He focuses on the words. “I love you.” And he forces himself to believe them. Gabriel loves me Gabriel loves me Gabriel loves me. It makes him feel better. It takes away the hole that’s been in his chest since he realised his feelings for the angel.

He’s going to miss Gabriel. Despite himself, he’s going to miss the days of waiting for the angel to call in, he’s going to miss knowing he interests such a powerful creature; he’s going to miss the lazy kisses and the passionate ones.

“I’m going to get Dean,” Gabriel says. “I’ll leave you two alone after that.” He stands, but Sam grabs his sleeve. Gabriel bites his lip and stares at Sam. It’s obvious he doesn’t know how to deal with this.

“You gotta stop sneaking off on me,” Sam whispers. “I want you here.” He pauses. “I love you.”

Tears well in Gabriel’s eyes. Regret. Guilt. Sam knows Gabriel wants to love him. Sam knows Gabriel wants to be able to give him that, in his last moments. Maybe before that, too, but that doesn’t matter anymore.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Sam is whispering still, almost to himself. “I fell in love with an archangel. I fell in love with Gabriel the archangel. You love me, Gabe?”

The fog is returning now that Gabriel’s hands are off him. His head is spinning again. But he focuses on the nod of Gabriel’s head.

His last comfort. Gabriel is still crying.

The archangel grabs his face again, and kisses him one last time. It’s passionate, it’s loving, it’s a lie. It’s desperate.

As the fog darkens, as his ears ring and his eyes blur, he hears a whisper of “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

One by one, features fade, until nothing’s there but the declaration, the lie, the mantra, the last thing that he knows of before the dark fog takes over. And his soul is at peace.

|o|o|o|o|

_And to tell you the truth I lost my faith in you_  
 _(You gotta stop sneaking off on me)_  
 _And these unspoken lies appear at the worst times_  
 _(You gotta stop sneaking off on me)_  
 _They’re hiding just behind your eyes_  
  
 **_Where did you go once the lights went black?_ **  
**_You nearly gave us a heart attack_ **  
**_We thought you might’ve swam out to sea_ **  
**_You gotta stop sneaking off on me_ **  
**_You gotta stop sneaking off on me_ **

****


End file.
